


Culture is Never Wasted

by burntcopper



Category: Eagle of the Ninth Series - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ballet AU, Billy Elliot - Freeform, Hip Hop, M/M, dance, dance au, matthew bourne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntcopper/pseuds/burntcopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step-Up/Billy Elliot AU, aka 'I have no shame and am a Matthew Bourne obsessive'.<br/>Esca's career is based on Richard Winsor's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culture is Never Wasted

The physio looks up from digging his thumbs into Marcus' thigh, having made him do some weird flexes. "Stay off it for six weeks. Nothing strenuous. Walking's fine, but no running, jumping and definitely no dancing."

Marcus freezes. "...What? We're in the middle of final rehearsals, we go on tour in a week."

The physio looks up at him unsympathetically. "That's what understudies are for."

Marcus swallows. "What about if I take it gently? Just leave out the jumps? Strap it up during performances?"

The physio narrows his eyes, getting up from his crouch. "You dance hip-hop. It's nothing *but* jumps and stomping. The only way it could be worse is if you took up ballet, and then you'd be fucking up your feet too. Six weeks or you'll fuck it up and end up having to stay off it for six months with regular physio into the bargain."

"Fuck." Marcus groans.

The physio turns away and starts noting things down on a pad. "Start on the anti-inflammatories. Basic shit will do. Not aspirin or painkillers. Oh, and talking of fucking - keep that off the strenuous list too. Missionary or on the bottom in some way, by which I mean your ass stays glued to the sheets. Work your stomach and hips, not your thighs."

"...You actually hate me, don't you." Marcus mutters.

The physio looks down his nose at him. "Suck it up and discover the joys of being tied to the bedstead."

To rewind, the crew had been in the middle of rehearsals in the studio they were renting in Brooklyn, Leon had turned the wrong way, crashing into Marcus as he landed from a spin. Getting up from that tangle caused his thigh to start screaming. Cue Jamelia kicking his lunkhead ass to the physio.

Jamelia is now staring him down in her very scary way as Marcus reports the physio's edicts. "...So it's no dancing for six weeks. Six weeks you'll be in Baltimore, right? I can join you there, or come along on tour to keep updated, do admin and shit."

Jamelia clicks her nails together, which is a sure sign she's unimpressed. "On a swing basis, Marcus. You'll still be taking it easy."

"Seriously? A swing?" Marcus protests. "J, I'm one of the damn leads."

"Six weeks of inactivity, you still gotta get up to fighting shape after that." She points out. "I do not allow for half-assed dancing in my crew, especially in my leads. And hell no you're not coming on tour, you'll just try and wheedle your way in or Leon'll trip over your leg again."

"Okay, okay." Marcus shoves his hand through his hair in frustration. "What'm I going to do for six weeks?"

"Take up a hobby and find somewhere to crash. Your uncle lives in New York, right? Go sit in his spare room and stare at the ceiling." She jabs a nail in the direction of his leg. "But do not fuck up your leg or I will come after you and insert these where the sun doesn't shine."

Uncle Aquila, when he gets the call, sounds amused. But then he always does. "But of course, dear boy! Recuperate here as long as you like. Your cousin and I will be glad to have you, you'll be a welcome source of entertainment."

Marcus spends the first week mooching around the house, watching dancers on one of the music channels resentfully. His cousin Livia comes into the room and pokes him as she sits down. "This is called masochism."

"What do you know about masochism, you're a kid." Marcus says, aiming a cushion at her head. "And don't knock music videos, I've been in a couple."

"Watching this stuff *is* masochism. It's boring." She says, batting the cushion aside. "Besides, it's not like the dancers are getting to do much, it's mostly T&A."

Marcus nearly defends it, glances at the current video and sighs. "Okay, you're right about most of them. But at least they're not wearing tutus like the stuff you like."

She sniffs. Way too much like her dad. "There is nothing wrong with tutus. Besides, not all ballet involves tutus and you know it. I know you've seen some." She grabs the remote and turns it to Nickelodeon. Some teenage girl thing.

"Hey!"

Livia holds the remote away. "Even you can't reach it from here, giant-features."

"I can try." Marcus lunges for it and his thigh twinges. "Ow."

"Told you." She says smugly.

"I am not watching this shit."

"So go get your ass off the couch and find something else to do, it's not like you're a cripple." Livia retorts. "And you're not supposed to swear in front of me."

Marcus grabs the cushion again, scoring a direct hit this time. "You're nearly a teenager, you've heard it all."

\---

Marcus is playing games on his phone with his headphones in, trying to block out the sound of teenage girl tv when Uncle Aquila comes in, clapping his hands together. "Get changed, we're going out."

"We are?" Marcus asks.

"Indeed. You, my boy, have been cooped up in here feeling sorry for yourself for too long, and you require society. So we are going to see Edward Scissorhands. It'll do you good."

"We're going to the movies?" Marcus blinks, still not quite sure how his uncle gets away with using words like ‘society’.

"Don't be stupid, Marcus." Livia says haughtily, jumping off the couch. "It's a dance production of it. It's awesome and got really good reviews in London." She looks down her nose at him. He has no idea how she does this considering she's three feet shorter than him, last he looked. "I don't know why he's going, the ticket'll be wasted on him."

"Now, now culture is never wasted." Uncle Aquila says. "The education will be good for him. Go change, child."

Marcus is still blinking. "Seriously, a dance version of Edward Scissorhands?" Knowing Livia, it's probably ballet. Or at least kissing cousins with ballet.

"You never know, you might learn something." Livia calls as she runs out of the room.

On the ride there, in Marcus' opinion, he learns *way* too much. Livia is in full ballet-babble mode. "So, this company are the guys who did the male Swan Lake - you've heard of that, right? That's what Billy becomes at the end of Billy Elliot."

Marcus has only seen bits of Billy Elliot. He considers it a minor miracle considering how many dancers he knows and how obsessed his cousin is about it. But he's seen pictures and a few snippets of that version of Swan Lake. "The guy in the feathery pants, right?"

Livia eyerolls. "You are *so* lacking. Anyway, they're deeply awesome." Marcus tries to tune her out, but he still catches snippets of 'nutcracker that's an acid trip in a candy store' 'kilts' and 'world war 2 pilot'. He thinks that had something to do with Cinderella, but he's not sure since there was also something about nightclubs. "And then there's Car Man, which dad will not take me to see. So unfair." She pouts.

"How come? What's wrong with Carmen?" Marcus leans forward to question Uncle Aquila. "I thought you'd be all in favour of opera."

"Car. Man." Uncle Aquila enunciates from the front seat. "It uses the music of Carmen but is somewhat different."

"How different?"

"Set in a ‘50s diner and garage and has an adult rating." Aquila says dryly. "I'm told at one point there's an orgy on the garage floor. I can't imagine why they'd have an age limit."

"Still mean." Livia pouts.

"And yet, my equilibrium is undisturbed. I'll get you the dvd when you're older."

In the foyer, Livia carefully marks off who's playing who off on her programme from the list on the wall. "Ooo. Esca MacCunoval is playing Edward Scissorhands. I knew he'd joined the company, but lead!"

"That'll be a sight to see, certainly." Uncle Aquila says, peering interestedly at something in the programme.

"Who?" Marcus asks. The name's vaguely familiar.

Livia gives him a scornful look. "If you have to ask, you'll never know." Great. Save him from snobby teenagers. They put in orders for interval drinks, then settle into their seats. Both Uncle Aquila and Livia refuse to pass over the programme.

"Just settle back and enjoy." Uncle Aquila admonishes him. The lights go down, the music goes up, a bunch of dancers playing comedy squabbling teenagers creep on.

Marcus settles into his seat, chuckling. So far, so okay-ish. Then Edward comes on, all shock hair and confused and awkward body language in a leather bodysuit and ... wow. This Esca can dance. Then he gets caught up in the story, and before he knows it, it's the interval. Livia is looking distinctly smug. "So, what did we think?" Uncle Aquila asks, grin on his face.

"You were right." Marcus says, scratching his neck. "How do they get it so funny?"

"Company trademark." Aquila says. "There have to be several moments of inducing the audience to giggle, if not guffaw."

"It was awesome. And beautiful. Esca as Edward, you could just *feel* his confusion..." Livia sighs.

Second act. Marcus may have had something in his eye at one point, alongside the laughter.

After the performance, Livia and Uncle Aquila are deep in discussion about the dancing and set design. Marcus flexes his leg to work out the kinks from being stuck in cramped theatre seating for so long. "I'm going out, see you in the morning, okay?"

"Certainly, dear boy, we won't wait up." Uncle Aquila grins. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Now, Livia, what did you think of the Christmas party?"

\----

Esca rubs the last of the water out of his hair to prevent dripping down his neck. He rolls his neck to get the kinks out, but the rest of his limbs still have that post-performance jelly feeling, even after a hot shower. "Oh fuck. I'm so fucking knackered." He moans. "I need a fucking drink. Who's with me?"

Cottia finishes pinning her hair up, frowning. "I wanted to go clubbing."

"Do I look like I can move? You can go clubbing, I just want to collapse in a bar." Esca says, turning to look at Tina. "And not one of those olde English ones that still somehow manage to be full of tv screens."

"It's not my fault I have a radar for cheese." Tina protests.

"Yeah, as seen in your taste in shags." Cottia says dryly. "All right, we'll drop you off at a bar on our way, Mr. knackered."  
\---  
Marcus is scanning the crowd in the bar, having begged off going back with his uncle and cousin in favour of going out. He might not be able to dance right now, but he really needs to burn some energy off. After getting a drink and brushing a few people off, a bunch of Brits enter the bar, chattering loudly. Amongst them is a really cute one with an intense look that really needs checking out. They push through to the bar, hollering for the barman's attention and passing out the drinks. Barmen love serving Brits in his experience - cute accents, generally polite, and pay upfront on automatic.

The crowd parts just enough for him to spot cute guy again. He's half-listening to the guy talking to him, but mostly involved in his drink. That's when his friend sees where Marcus is looking.

Sean pauses in his babble about the latest Pina Bausch project. Esca's only been catching one word in five, but looks up at the pause. Sean nudges him. "Someone's giving you the eye."

Esca looks up to see what Sean's talking about to see a big bloke - tall, built like a brick shithouse - looking back with interest. He quirks a slight smile on seeing that Esca's noticed him looking, not turning his gaze away. Esca turns back to Sean. "Not exactly subtle, is he?"

"Subtle is overrated." Sean says dismissively. "What would happen to the likes of Sally if people relied on subtlety to get her attention? Horrendous droughts with possible virginity side-effects, that's what." Sean grimaces. "And as we know, virginal just equals teeth in the wrong places."

"True." Esca agrees, glancing back at the giant. Who's still looking. "Christ, he's as big as Alan got for the tenth anniversary tour."

"Taller, I think. Not sure if he's quite as broad as Alan got, we'd have to see him with his shirt off." Sean pauses, remembering he's got a drink and taking a mouthful. "Question is, can he use it?"

"Sean." Esca groans.

"What, he's good-looking in that square-jawed carved from granite all-American way." he nudges Esca. "At least get a drink off him."

"In this state?" Esca asks. "I'm going to be pissed after fucking two, amount I've sweated into that bloody leather sofa of a costume. To quote Sam, just let me get my hands on Tim Burton. Johnny Depp would be with us all the fucking way."

Sean laughs and shoves his hand into Esca's hair, ruffling it. "Get on with you, you're scowling again." He uses the hand to give Esca's head a shove. "I'm off to find some totty, I'll see if I can find you later, all right?" With that, Sean's eeling off through the crowd. Esca rubs at the spot where Sean pushed him, then tries to get his hair back in order.

"Leave it." A voice rumbles next to him, and Esca looks up. And up. It's Brick Shithouse. "Bedhead looks good on you." Esca raises an eyebrow. Brick Shithouse stares back, bemused. "What?"

"I'm trying to decide whether that was a compliment or a really bad line." Esca says, taking a sip of his drink.

"It can't be both?" Brick Shithouse says, signalling the barman for another beer. "You want one?"

"This one's fine. Any more and I'll be under the table." Esca says.

"You don't look that far gone." He says, handing over his cash as the barman hands him his drink.

"Absolutely fucking knackered." Esca states. "And who says I'd accept one?"

Brick Shithouse grins, taking a pull of his beer. "You haven't told me to fuck off yet, so there was a chance."

"I'm too bloody knackered." Esca says, glancing over at him. "Can't be arsed to make the effort."

"Still talking to me." Brick Shithouse grins.

One thing leads to another, and by that Esca means he's blaming the alcohol and the bloke's broad shoulders for the fact that they're snogging lazily. Not a bad kisser, Esca has to say. Break, and Esca can feel the bloke's wormed his fingers under his waistband, fingertrips stroking the skin there, when there's a yell from the other side of the bar. Esca groans, letting his head fall against the very broad shoulder in front of him.

Brick Shithouse snorts. Esca can bloody hear him grinning. "Friends of yours?"

"They can't be left alone for five minutes, I swear..." Esca says, pulling away and making his way towards the sound of a bunch of dancers with a chronic case of foot in mouth disease. He gets over and into the middle of the yelling and shoving, and ... huh. Brick Shithouse is right behind him. He turns to face Sean. "Look, it's okay. Sean, what did you say?"

"Why would it be me?" Sean asks, looking offended.

"It's always you." Esca sighs. "Explain it to me later. Tina?"

"Hey, the girl can stay," the guy next to her says. "This jerkwad, on the other hand-"

Brick Shithouse looms. It's a good loom. Size has its advantages, clearly. "No she can't. Look, they're going to leave, you're going to forget about it."

Esca shoots him a grateful look, hustling them out and putting a hand over Sean’s mouth to forestall any further trouble. Once they're out, Esca leans against the wall, taking a breather while everyone puts themselves together and decides who's moving on and where. Brick Shithouse comes out the door. "You going?"

"Yeah. Think I'd better get 'em elsewhere before they manage to start a fight with a lamppost."

"Wasn't my fault." Sean grumbles.

"Not the time, Sean." Esca says, then scrubs his neck. "Thanks. For stepping in. You didn't have to. The looming helped, you're pretty good at that."

"It comes naturally. And hey, it was nothing." Brick Shithouse grins. "Good thing it stopped there, my leg wouldn't have stood up to it."

"You've got a bad leg?" Esca frowns, since he didn't note a limp.

"Pulled or bruised. Something like that. Just means nothing strenuous for six weeks."

"Oh. Right. thanks anyway."

Brick Shithouse breaks the stare, glancing at Sean. "So what do you think he said? Some Brit slang?"

"Considering I've seen him do it all over Britain, I can safely say what he probably said was 'hello'." Esca says dryly. Then yawns. "Fuck. Knackered. Sorry. But yeah, I owe you one. Thanks."

"No big." Brick Shithouse grins. "You can pay me back right now, if you want." He says, hooking his fingers in Esca's belt, and that he doesn't have to reach far says a lot for the chances of Esca protesting much as Brick Shithouse cups Esca's jaw and tilts his head up to kiss him.

Break, mostly because Tina has just said "Get in there! Go on, my son!" And someone's whistled. He's blaming Mei for the whistle.

Esca glares at them. "You can shut up." And then yawns. Again.

Sean hooks an arm around him. "Time to let go of the very nice man and get all good little boys to Bedfordshire if they want to function tomorrow."

Brick Shithouse grins, letting go of Esca's belt. "See you around, then." He watches them go before going back into the bar.

\----

Marcus is checking his email at the airport, waiting for the connection to their next date. Top one is from his cousin Livia, with 'LIFE OR DEATH, READ THIS NOW!' in the subject line. Considering it's from a thirteen year old with a thing for drama (which describes most of them, admittedly), he'll take that with a pinch of salt, so he clicks on it just to see what she's going on about. And... huh. Turns out the company that did Edward Scissorhands are doing Dorian Gray at Sadler’s Wells in London on the dates his crew's in London. Modern day allegory for fame and celebrity, whatever. Sounds interesting. And it's starring the guy who played Edward Scissorhands. Checking the website, there's still a few seats available for the Sunday when they're not performing, so he buys himself one. He checks the production photos, all arty black and white, bare torso twisted to look more skeletal. Looks familiar, but then the amount of people he's met for five minutes over the past few years of working, could be anyone.  
\----

They're getting food before the show on Saturday, and Dion looks up from his fries. "What're you doing tomorrow, Marcus? A bunch of us were going to go to Camden."

"Can probably join you there later, but got a ticket for a matinee." Marcus replies.

"Theatre? Seriously? Tell me it's not a musical."

"Dance thing at Sadler's Wells." Marcus says.

"We are going up in the world." Obie says around his mouthful of burger. Jamelia throws a fry at his head for talking with his mouth full.

"Fuck off, you know they do all kinds." Marcus says. "Promised my little cousin I'd see it since she can't. Company they took me to see in New York's new piece."

"Isn't your cousin the ballet nut?"

"Different stuff." Marcus shrugs. "No tutus."

At Sadler's, Marcus settles into his seat - and doesn't quite get the giggles from the audience at the alarm clock. He guesses it's some sort of in-joke that Livia would get. Come the photography scene. There's a turn of head, and - okay, definitely familiar. Maybe he saw him perform or do some modelling once. And then the scene turns from ghostly to really hot. That's a lot of lust up on stage there.

Second act takes a turn for the seriously dark. Murders and overdoses and really fucked-up decor. The giant sparkly skull being the least of it. If this goes to New York, he's telling Uncle Aquila that there is no way Livia is seeing this til she's 40. But fuck, Esca MacCunoval's mesmerising as Dorian.

They go out later in the week. Some bar. Jamelia puts the drinks down on the table. "I want table service. Why can't they have waitresses in Brit bars?"

"Because they're evil. And British. Their metro map bears no relation to reality, they have a queen, their soaps are depressing, but their chocolate is to die for." Leon says, then pauses to watch a girl go by. "And their accents are hot."

"Accents or women?" Obie asks.

"Both. Either. It's all good." Leon says, watching the next one go by.

Marcus goes to the bar to get another drink. He turns round too fast, spilling a bit on the guy in front of him. "Hey, whoa, steady now." The guy says, putting his hands on Marcus' arms to stop the drink going further.

"Shit, sorry." Marcus curses. The drink's gone right down the guy's shirt.

"Nah, no harm done, it's not like it's new." The guy grins, lighting up his face, reaching round Marcus to get a napkin from the bar, blotting the worst of it. "See, all better. Nothing a wash won't solve."

"Still, let me buy you a drink." Marcus says, feeling a bit sheepish and inwardly cursing his luck tonight. On closer inspection, the guy is really easy on the eye.

The guy shrugs. "If you insist." He replies, continuing to blot his front. "Brown Ale."

"That's a drink?"

"It's the one with the blue star on it." the guy says, pointing at the fridge behind the bar. "Unlike what you spilled over me, it tastes of something."

"Bud is a great drink." Marcus protests, signalling the barman. "Brown ale, please."

"American beer is just wrong. It's practically water." Shirt guy says on getting his drink.

In the middle of talking about Jason Statham films (no, no idea how they got onto that from beer) some girl who's clearly part of a hen night flicks her feather boa and Esca gets a rain of feathers over him. He reaches up to brush them off his shoulder, shirt sleeve riding up. "Anyway, as I was saying, Snatch and Lock Stock are -" He pauses, since Brick Shithouse is frowning, tilting his head to look at something, then lifting Esca's sleeve to see the rest of his tattoo. "Problem?"

"The tattoo's familiar." Brick Shithouse says, tracing it slowly.

Esca raises an eyebrow. He doesn't think it's in any of the Dorian Gray promo shots, so unless the bloke's met him before or seen him on stage, it's not likely. "Could be we've run into each other before." He shrugs. "I've been to America once or twice before."

"Cool." Brick Shithouse says, hand now resting on Esca's arm, thumb shifting gently over Esca's ink. "So, got any more?" Curious with a hint of flirting, that tone is. Esca can cope with that.

"Just this. You?" He asks, sipping his ale.

"Thought about it." Brick Shithouse says, tone dropping lower. Esca's aware of how close they've shifted since the start. It's crowded, but it's not so crowded they need to be this close. "Like it on other people though."

"That so." Esca says, leaning forward that bit more to kiss him, wrapping one hand as far as he can around Brick Shithouse's fucking massive bicep. The kiss is wet, Esca licking insistently into Brick Shithouse's mouth, the bloke responding enthusiastically, Esca nipping at his lip as he withdraws.

"Hey, lovebirds, shift it somewhere else, you're blocking the bar." Someone to their side grunts.

"Will do." Esca says, grabbing Brick Shithouse's hand and pulling him to what sort of constitutes a dance floor here. One group they pass make 'Niiiiice' noises, whistling and yelling what sounds like the American equivalent of 'get in!' to Brick Shithouse.

Esca turns his head. "Friends of yours?"

"Yeah, they're not what you'd call subtle." Brick Shithouse grins, turning Esca towards him, hands gripping his hips. Really big hands.

"Subtle's overrated." Esca says, hooking his hands into the back of his belt and pulling him close, nipping a line up his neck. Brick Shithouse pauses, tipping Esca's chin up and frowning. "Something wrong?"

"Remembered why you're familiar. New York, friends who could start a fight by saying 'hello'?"

Esca backtracks. Oh. Yeah. That night he was really knackered and ended up snogging some really big bastard. Surprised he remembered. "Good memory."

"I was impressed. It's a talent." He looks round. "They not here tonight?"

Esca shakes his head slightly. "All on my lonesome."

"And you're not going to yawn in my face."

"I'd been dancing in a really heavy bodysuit and wig for two hours, can you blame me?" Esca says, hooking his hand around Brick Shithouse's neck and kissing him again. Brick Shithouse freezes for a second, but it's only a second, since next moment he's pulling Esca's hips against him and starts a slow grind to the music.

Marcus shifts his hands to Esca's ass, using his other hand to cup the back of his head, leaning down to kiss him again, really resisting the urge to hitch him up his leg so he won't get a crick in his neck, but thinks he'd probably get thumped. As it is he can feel how hard Esca is where he's pressed against his leg. Fuck. He's going to have trouble getting out of this bar with his dignity intact. Doesn't help that he (and god knows how many hundred others) know exactly what Esca looks like under those jeans and shirt, as well as what he looks like crawling all over someone.

Esca pulls back, lips swollen and hands fisted in the bottom of Marcus' t-shirt. He grins slightly, cupping Marcus through his jeans, lifting himself up to say in his ear "It's too fucking far to my flat. You want to do something about this?" Marcus swallows and nods. "Great minds think alike." Esca smirks, pulling back and grabbing Marcus' hand, towing him in the direction of the men's bathroom. Fortunately there's a stall free, and Esca pivots them and slams Marcus against the door, frantically struggling with the other's belt and fly.

\----

Esca has no idea how he's ended up at this club, handing over his coat at the coat check. He's blaming Cottia, one of the wardrobe girls, who tugged at his arm as they were leaving Sadler’s Wells after that night's performance of Swan Lake with the fateful phrase "Come on, Esca, you need a night out. It's Friday, it's practically a law, you have to go out and enjoy yourself. And remember, weekday matinees start up in a week or so, you need to get some fun in while you can."

It's a hip-hop club. Esca looks around helplessly at everyone throwing shapes or grinding up against each other. "...I have no idea how to dance to this."

"If in doubt, just dance in rhythm and move your hips." Cottia says. "I know you can do that." She taps him on the nose. "You need a shag. This is perfect for pulling."

"Maybe for you. I suspect I'm going to look like a puppet with its strings cut."

Marcus looks around the club. It's a couple of days before they're due to start at the Barbican for a two-week stint in early December, and Jamelia declared that they needed to check out the local competition. And have fun. The music's pretty good - some US, a lot of Brit stuff Leon says is called grime, which is a bit harder and more dance-y than what he's used to.

They've been there about an hour when he notices Rosa's gawping at something behind him. "Shit. Ballet training at 2 o'clock."

"Huh?" He turns to see a guy in the process of doing a perfectly controlled spin that screams ballet, his friend lifted up high, all lines and muscle. They come down to earth, followed by wolf-whistling and cat-calls from the people who noticed. Including Rosa, who claps. The guy turns, and the lights flash at just the right moment to show off his ink. Marcus knows that ink, and he knows the body it's attached to.

Esca ignores the reaction they got, and goes back to dancing. Well, sort of. He still can't dance to this, and Cottia can't stop giggling.

"I do not get how you can do that perfectly but fail so badly at this." Cottia says, going back to rolling her hips. It still looks better than anything Esca has managed to achieve so far.

"You work with how many ballet dancers and you have to ask? My knees don't work that way." Esca complains.

"Oh, please. Club scenes are practically law in our company."

"Yeah, but that's normal dancing! Not bloody dislocating my sodding spine!" Esca hisses.

Someone behind him says in his ear "I could help you with that." The phantom voice is joined by a pair of big hands just resting on his hips. Esca turns to see Brick Shithouse, a fucking massive American bloke he remembers pulling a couple of times. He'll admit he mostly remembers him because of his size.

"What makes you think I'm interested?" He retorts, ignoring the fact that he's not pulling away.

Brick Shithouse lifts his hands in a 'no harm, no foul' gesture. "Just offering. You seem like you could use some help in moving your hips."

"And you think you could help with that?" Esca says, giving the bloke his best sceptical look.

"I am an expert in moving my hips." Brick Shithouse grins.

Cottia giggles. "I bet you are."

"See? She agrees. C'mon, one dance. It's not difficult."

"Maybe for you." Esca mumbles.

Cottia sniggers, shoving him at Brick Shithouse. "Oh, get on with you."

Brick Shithouse puts his hands on Esca's hips, moving them in time with the beat. Esca can do that, it's just how he wants them moved that's escaping him.

Marcus is mostly watching Esca's frown. He's clearly trying to concentrate on trying to dance in the way the music demands, brow furrowed in an intense way that's seriously hot. Probably the same expression he has when learning new dance moves. The only problem is Marcus is trying and failing to stifle a grin at the fact that Esca's more like a slightly ungainly scarecrow right now. Kind of like he was in Edward Scissorhands but less graceful. He catches eyes with Esca's friend, a girl with a mass of red hair, and she nods at Esca, giggling, and mouthing 'I have no idea'.

They limp through three songs, and Esca eventually shakes his head in frustration. "It's no good, I'm fucking useless at this."

"Hey, you're not too bad." Brick Shithouse says, rubbing a circle into Esca's hip with his thumb. Esca's not sure how much of his crapness is due to being distracted by his teacher's hands and how they feel on his hips. "At least you were moving in time, which is more than some of the guys in this club are."

"No, seriously. I'm going to take a break and get a drink." Esca sighs. "Maybe see you later if you can bear to be seen with me."

"Be happy to keep trying as long as it takes." Brick Shithouse grins, cupping Esca's elbow and running a hand up his arm, stopping just short of his tattoo, before letting go, leaving what feels like a tingling imprint on Esca's skin. "See you later."

Cottia grins evilly when they get to the bar. "So, on the subject of finding a shag, I think you've got a willing victim there."

"Maybe." Esca says, scratching his arm where he can still feel the imprint of the bloke's hand. He glances back over his shoulder, and the bloke tips his head in acknowledgement, before doing a hip-knee combo that Esca considers impossible for anyone with normal joints.

"If you're not sure, I will happily take him off your hands." Cottia says, leaning over the bar and pointing at the beer on the bottom shelf of the fridge, holding up two fingers to the barman. "And climb him like a tree. It's tough, but someone has to do it."

"Your sacrifice has been noted." Esca says dryly as she hands over the money and takes the beer she hands him.

They lounge for a while by the bar, watching the floor. Brick Shithouse and his mates are currently doing something that looks very complicated involving spins and rolls over each other. And when it changes to the next song, some sort of face-off... thing. Showing off their moves. Beside him, Cottia claps and hollers along with the rest of the crowd.

Esca shakes his head. "How are they doing that?"

"I would ask how you manage to do some of those jumps, but I gather it's a trade secret that involves torturing your body for years into some kind of dancing machine." Cottia says, then says "Oooo." admiringly as one of the girls makes it look like she's turned all her joints to water and collapses to the floor on her knees.

Near the end of the song, they all leave the floor, shoving and laughing. Then a familiar bass starts up, and Cottia grabs Esca's hand, towing him towards the dancefloor. "Cottia, I told you -"

"Do. Not. Care. I love this song. We will dance." She commands, lifting her hair off her neck and rolling her shoulders as she settles into the groove of the song. Esca sighs and tries to follow as best as he can, half-closing his eyes so everything's a blur after a bit, just so he doesn't have to remind himself how good everyone else is at this. Being not good at dancing is fucking depressing. He's no Carlos Acosta, but it's what he *does*. At least this one is one of the slower ones.

Next song is the same tempo, and part way through he gets a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head, it's Brick Shithouse, who grins and slides in against his back, slotting his chin over Esca's shoulder, one hand on his hip and controlling how he moves. "Looks like you still need some help."

"I don't think I'm ever going to get this." Esca complains.

"So just close your eyes and let me do the work." Brick Shithouse says, lips brushing his ear so he can feel it as he grins.

Okay, it's a bit easier when he's got someone else physically moving him, but he's still awkward. So he concentrates on the feel of Brick Shithouse down his back instead, and moving with him. Done it enough times on stage. After a bit they break, and Cottia dances with Brick Shithouse. She's nowhere near his level of skill, but at least she looks good dancing to this. At one point she says something, and the pair of them laugh. Esca finds himself following the line of Brick Shithouse's neck as he throws his head back, but then Brick Shithouse is grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to face him again, demonstrating a move and getting Esca to follow.

Two more songs and Esca is... nope, still feeling like a scarecrow. But starting to feel a bit warm from some of the heavy-lidded looks Brick Shithouse is throwing him and the constant touches. One of Brick Shithouse's mates grabs him, pulling him over to talk.

Cottia cocks her head in the direction he went, and then grins filthily. "So, considering how hot it's getting in here, I suggest you drag him off to have your wicked way with him when he gets back."

"It's not that hot." Esca mutters.

Cottia taps her knuckle against his forehead. "Oh, sweetie. Don't lie, you're eye-fucking something chronic. Go caveman on him, you know you want to."

"Might be a bit difficult considering his size." Esca points out.

"All about leverage." She grins.

Brick Shithouse gets back, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I was going out to get some fresh air." He says, pulling at his collar, and Esca follows the extra bit of skin revealed.

"Good idea." Esca nods. "I'll join you."

They hurry out, and Brick Shithouse curses as the temperature changes from the warm club to the chilly December air. "Fuck, it's freezing."

"Let's see if I can distract you." Esca grins, stepping in close and pulling his head down for a kiss. Brick Shithouse grins against his lips, hands going round his waist and onto his bum, squeezing there as Esca keeps one hand on his neck and slides the other down his arm, feeling the muscles flex.

Esca could seriously snog this bloke for ages, but he starts shivering. Esca steps back, and the bloke starts rubbing his hands down his arms immediately. "Sorry, just a bit cold. Can we go back in?"

Esca grins, hooking his hands into Brick Shithouse's belt loops. "How about we go back in, get our coats and we go back to my flat where we can get you properly warmed up?"

Brick Shithouse grins, running his hand down Esca's t-shirt to where his nipples are peaking in the cold air. "Sounds like a plan."

Inside, both of them start looking around for their mates, to tell them they're off, and find a pretty weird sight. Cottia and one of Brick Shithouse's mates are arguing.

Brick Shithouse grabs one of his other mates, who're looking fucking bemused by the two girls. "Leon, you got any idea what the bitchfight is about?"

"Something about you going off with this guy. I think they both went into mamma hen mode. Or something." He shrugs. "Women, man. I do not get them."

"I'm just saying, there are -"

"Please, like you give a shit -"

"He's my boy, I gotta look out for him!" Brick Shithouse's mate says.

"Well he's my boy!" Cottia retaliates. And then they blink. And stare at each other.

And simultaneously say "Oh."

Brick Shithouse takes that moment to cut in. "I don't even want to know what you two were fighting about, but we were going to head off. See you later, okay?"

"Sure thing." Leon fistbumps him. "Have a good time, and do not tell me the fucking details."

"You know it." Brick Shithouse replies.

Esca looks at Cottia. "So, I'm heading off. Don't tell me what that was about, it sounded insane."

"Good, I'm going to keep dancing with people who don't do their best impression of a scarecrow." Cottia grins. "And I will want details."

"Which I'm not going to tell you." Esca says firmly.

Getting from Esca's front door to his bedroom is kinda awkward, Marcus has to admit. Since they're trying to keep kissing and pressed against each other but at the same time pulling at clothes. Jackets were easy, but Marcus still has his scarf on, and Esca's half out of his t-shirt, one sleeve still on, by the time they slam into the room Esca steers them towards, and ow, that was a bookcase his elbow just bounced off. Still, he manages to get to the bed and sit on it, pulling Esca into his lap with a hand on his ass.

Esca buries his hands in Marcus' hair, grinding down and he clearly knows exactly what to do with his hips now. Marcus busies his hands with learning the muscles of Esca's back and ass, the muscles rippling as they move against each other. Esca bites at Marcus' lip, moving his hands to their waists, struggling with their flies and belts.

"C'mon, your belt is an utter bastard - there." Esca says, mumbling words against Marcus' mouth as he finally manages to get his jeans open, kissing him harder as he pushes Marcus back on the bed, tugging at his waistband. Marcus gets the picture. Clothes off is a damn good idea, so he tugs at Esca's jeans, trying to get them down his legs but still trying to keep their mouths attached. It's only half successful, as every other kiss misses and lands on his cheek or chin. Esca keeps pausing to kiss him swiftly, then shove some more at his jeans. As a technique for getting clothes off it's not a very successful one.

Finally they manage to get them down past their knees, Marcus smiling triumphantly against Esca's mouth, since it's only a matter of kicking them off now. Except they forgot to take their shoes off in their rush to get to the bedroom, and it's just not happening. Esca sits up, cursing as he fights with his laces, Marcus toeing his off and kicking his jeans and underpants off. He pulls Esca back once Esca's got his shoes and jeans off, rolling them onto their sides and kissing a line down his shoulders before going back up to his mouth, both of them trying to get their hands on as much skin as possible in as short a time. They've been hard since the club, they can go slow later. Esca worms a hand between them, fisting their cocks together, working the pre-come down as lube, twisting hard and - they both groan, Marcus coming first over their hands and stomachs, Esca following him over, the jump and pulse enough to trigger his orgasm.

Marcus groans as he comes back to his senses, blinking the haze out of his head. He rolls onto his back, bringing Esca with him to rest on his chest, both still panting hard.

"Fuck." Esca swears muzzily. "I'm normally better'n that."

Marcus wipes some of the sweat out of his eyes, looking down. "Hey, half of it was me." He grins slightly. "Clean up and go again?"

Esca levers himself up on one arm and flashes a grin, reaching over to the nightstand for the tissues. "Sounds like a plan."

\----  
Morning. Esca wakes up, desperate for a slash. He stumbles to the bathroom, relieves himself, and splashes a bit of water on his face, glad he didn't drink much last night - performing with a hangover's no fucking fun, doesn't matter your age. Clicking on the bathroom light shows off a bit of stubble burn and a few marks on his chest. Whoops. Still, the makeup'll cover it. Could be worse, could be doing Dorian Gray. Mind you, he could probably argue that was method acting. Not that it'd wash, but it'd be worth the effort to see how high wardrobe'd raise their eyebrows. He walks back to his bedroom, and blinks slightly on seeing the size of the bloke in his bed. Could've sworn he didn't look that big in the club, even if he's mentally dubbed him Brick Shithouse all this time. Then he remembers the size of his hands and cock and the feel of that bulk holding him up. Esca shakes his head, and slips back into bed, tired enough that he falls back asleep nearly immediately.

Marcus is woken up by an alarm. The body snuggled up against his chest just shifts slightly. He lies there for a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling figuring out where he is, before guessing he really should wake Esca up, nice as he does feel. He shakes Esca's shoulder. "Hey, sorry about this, but your alarm just went off. You got somewhere to be?"

Esca blinks awake, rubbing his eye with one hand, groaning and mumbling something that doesn't sound like English, but he probably needs coffee for that. He pushes himself up, swinging his legs out of bed and heading out of the room, still rubbing his eyes. There's the sound of the shower running. Marcus dozes off, and next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Esca’s saying something in what sounds like a foreign language.

"Uh, in English?" Marcus asks.

Esca rubs his face again. "Fuck. Sorry, accent's a bit stronger in the morning. I've got a couple've errands to run before I get to work so you need to get up. You want breakfast?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Marcus says, getting up and fumbling for his boxers as Esca walks out, watching his butt in some really, really nicely fitting jeans. And then realises how cold it is, desperately grabbing his jeans and the hoodie on the chair for warmth, tucking his hands into his armpits to try to stay warm. It's snug, which means it probably swamps his host. He stumbles in the direction Esca went, cursing the trend for wood floors as his toes recoil in horror. What was so wrong with carpet? He tries to touch as little floor as possible for the sake of his toes and comes up short in the kitchen to see Esca stretching for something in the cupboard. Shirtless, so he can see the muscles ripple in his really well-toned back. Nice as the view is, it just reminds Marcus of his major case of goose pimples here. Does the guy not believe in sweaters? Marcus leans up against the doorway, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Did the heating go off?"

Esca turns round, mug in hand. "Oh. Sorry. I forget not everyone's Geordie, I don't feel the cold and don't tend to turn the heating on until evening." He pauses, looking down at his mug. "Turns out my mates inhaled the last of the coffee. There's tea. How d'you take it?"

"Uh, no milk. Anything hot is good." Marcus replies.

"Good one there, since there's no cereal. We have toast or toast." Esca opens the fridge to get the milk out. The fact that he has to bend over to do this is no bad thing. "And bacon. You're in luck." He turns his head to look at Marcus. "However, there's a rule in this kitchen: no ketchup, so it's brown sauce on your bacon sandwich or nothing."

Marcus tears his eyes away from Esca's butt. Last time he saw it? Not this close up. Damn that is one fine ass, as his hands can confirm. Okay, bacon? This morning is getting better. "Bacon sandwich is fine by me, but what's brown sauce? Is it like barbecue?" He's seen the brown bottles in Britain in cafés on previous tours, but never tried it.

Esca narrows his eyes. "Wash your mouth out with soap." He straightens, putting the bacon and milk on the counter and shutting the fridge door with his foot, before reaching into the cupboard above the nearly-boiled kettle and pulling out a bottle with 'HP' on it and unscrewing the lid, tilting it up to get some on his finger and holding his hand out. "This is brown sauce. Try it."

Marcus takes hold of his wrist, and licks the sauce off, sucking the finger slightly. Kind of spicy-fruity. With a touch of salt from his skin. He sucks a bit more, then pulls off with a pop. Esca flushes slightly. "Not bad. I'm open to new experiences."

The flush clears. "Okay, first rule of the kitchen. No trying to seduce me when I've only got enough time to make breakfast."

"Blowjobs or bacon, it's a hard decision." Marcus grins.

Esca glares at him. "I'm ignoring that." He gets the frying pan out of the cupboard and turns the gas on. The kettle turns off with a loud click, and Marcus gets a hot mug shoved into his hands. "Weren't you the one shivering a minute ago? Get that down you." He says, turning back to the important task of frying the bacon, gesturing occasionally with the spatula to keep Marcus at bay once the tea's warmed him up.

The bacon sandwich - complete with strange brown fruit sauce - is possibly the best thing Marcus has tasted in Britain so far. Pigs should die happy knowing that they'd become this. His involuntary moan gets a smirk out of Esca. "Told you it was worth it." He glances at the clock on the microwave. "Anyway, you've just got time for a quick shower once you've finished that before I've got to be gone."

Marcus swallows the remains of the sandwich, giving thanks that he's not a girl and can burn it off really easily. "How is it no-one told me about these before?"

"Trade secret we keep from you yanks." Esca says, then frowns. "You've got sauce - here, let me." He says, reaching up to brush something from the corner of Marcus' mouth, but his fingers linger as he catches Marcus' gaze.

Marcus turns his head to nip at them, still keeping eye contact. "Sure you don't want to join me in that shower?"

Esca pulls his hand away. "I said a *quick* shower." He retorts, dumping the pan in the sink and pushing Marcus out of the kitchen. "Towels are on the rail, there's no spare toothbrush but there's mouthwash."  
\-----

On Sunday, the entire crew are on the escalator at Angel tube. They'd got from Marcus that he was going to see the male Swan Lake when they got to London, and having heard a hell of a lot about it from other dancers (many of whom gush about it scarily) or seen snippets depending, Jamelia managed to score a group deal on tickets for the matinee.

Leon eyes the poster for it as they go up. "Man, they like their threatening imagery, don't they?"

Rosa shrugs. "I saw some of it on tv. The swans are not cute. At all."

Marcus doesn't say anything. He's just staring at the image of Esca with a dark slash of paint down his face, all corded muscle, and trying not to think of what he looked like in his kitchen yesterday. And crossing his fingers that it's Esca performing today.

The foyer of the theatre's packed, people milling and chattering. Marcus drifts over to the board showing who's performing tonight, and grins. Esca MacCunoval as Swan/Stranger. Bonus.

Settle in, there's some stuff about a prince and a distant mom who's a serious MILF, royal appearances, then the prince unveils a statue. Half the crew's jaws drop. Naked guy, back to the audience, powdered white, and Marcus is really fucking glad his coat's in his lap. Naked statue guy is definitely Esca, he'd know that ass and back anywhere. Squinting slightly, he can see a slightly darker bit on the statue's arm that's probably Esca’s tattoo. Some stuff about how the Prince is definitely more appreciative of the statue than he's supposed to be, and Marcus totally knows where he's coming from.

Dance continues, and it's really fucking funny in places, then comes the bit where the Prince gets to the park, depressed as fuck, and... swans. Marcus swallows, hard. Because the cute guy he had his hands on Friday night and flirted with in his kitchen is now this thing of sheer fucking physical power. He's seen Esca play threatening, dangerous and downright fucking psycho before, but... yeah. He gets why this piece is legendary now.

Second half: Queen goes full-on MILF, and Leon may need a bucket for his drool. However, Marcus now gets why so many women of his acquaintance like men in leather pants, now that he's seen Esca prowl across the stage in the damn things. Though he's slightly weirded out by the fact that he preferred the feathery pants. Less flashy eurotrash vampire look.

They all look a bit shell-shocked at the end, though. "Jesus, they peck them to death? Downer much?" Jamelia asks, even as she's grinning as they finally stop cheering during the bows.

"Swan dies in the usual ballet, J." Rosa shrugs, then grins. "This, though?" She fans herself. "That's all I'm saying."

"We also need to talk about the woman playing the Queen." Leon says. "Damn. Can I volunteer to be one of her soldier boys?"

"Leon, you don't need to tell us, you were this far from leaping over the balcony, running on stage and humping her leg." Jamelia says, holding her fingers a fraction apart, then slapping Marcus on the shoulder. "This guy, on the other hand, is in his happy place and ain't coming down anytime soon. But at least he's got the class not to drool."

On finally getting out, they go to the pub round the corner for a drink before deciding where to go next. Obie's in the middle of figuring out how he can get some big jumps into a routine when a bunch of people walk in the door, chattering about the performance and who tripped up and who made near misses and cursing particular moves. Pretty obvious they're the company, especially given a very familiar face in their midst.

Marcus goes up for another round and squeezes in next to Esca, nudging him to get his attention. Esca looks up, blinks slightly in recognition, then grins. "Afternoon, stranger."

Marcus grins back. "Hi again. So, can I buy you a drink?"

"Well, you've not spilt one over me..."

Marcus cringes. "You remember that?"

"Sticks in the mind a bit." He nudges him back. "Nah, it's my round, but I'll need a hand carrying all this back." The barman comes over, and Esca lists off a bunch of drinks, counting them off on his fingers, then turns back to Marcus. "So did you see the performance? What did you think?"

Marcus gives him a disbelieving look, then nudges him again with his arm. "You know you're really good. Seen you perform before in Edward Scissorhands and Dorian Gray. Only I didn't know it was ...you know. You."

Esca sniggers, and Marcus really needs to make him do that again. "I'm shocked you didn't recognise me at the bar after Edward Scissorhands. Pretty good dancer yourself."

Marcus shrugs. "Yeah, we're over at the Barbican. Hip-hop group, start our two weeks on Monday."

Esca furrows his brow, then nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, my mate who was with me on Friday is going to see you on her night off. The Legion, right?"

"Yeah, that's us." Marcus says. "Not coming?"

Esca sighs. "Full time on this til the end of January. If I'm not playing the Swan, I'm doing one of the other roles. Or dead to the world, since we go into extra matinees as well mid-December. Can't complain, one of my mates is in panto this season and says he only wishes he had four matinees a week." Marcus is not going to ask about panto. He's heard rumours about it, you can't help it if you work in Britain since it's their major Christmas theatre, but no-one explains it. The pictures alone are fucking scary, like cabaret and clowns and Disneyland all took an acid trip together.

They get the drinks, pass them out, then settle at a small table together, knees knocking. They're all small tables in British pubs, and Marcus is not complaining. At all. Even though the chairs are made for midgets and set really close to the ground.

"So when'd you start dancing?" Esca asks, taking a sip of his drink.

"14 or so." Marcus replies. "Sports before that. Dancing just looked fun. What about you? You have to start ballet early, right? Bet you were a real Billy Elliot." Esca winces. "Was it something I-" Marcus asks, worried he's put his foot in his mouth. Maybe it's an insult to Brit dancers? American ones don't have a problem with it, they love that movie. Esca doesn't reply, just looks like he's waiting for something.

At which point all his company chorus "Billy Elliot, you're a disgrace to them gloves, your father, and the traditions of this boxing hall!" and collapse into giggles.

Esca groans. "Never fails."

"...Is that like a thing in ballet?" Marcus asks, turning round to stare at them, but they're too busy giggling. "Like saying Macbeth in theatre means you have to knock three times?" He really needs to find out more about ballet and modern dance. He might start getting some of the jokes then.

"Just me." Esca grimaces. "It's a thing."

One of the others walks over and ruffles Esca's hair. "We do it for his own good, he loves it really."

"Not the amount you bastards do it." Esca mutters, pushing him off and running a hand over his hair to get it back into order.

The other guy gives him a shit-eating grin, poking him in the shoulder. "Go on, do a quote from it, it's really cute. Bet your friend'd like it."

Marcus shrugs. "Only seen a bit of it with my little cousin so I'd have no idea if he was doing it right."

"You, I like." Esca says, tilting his drink at him.

They keep chatting for another couple of hours, getting another drink, the two crews swapping stories about touring and moaning about shitty theatres they have known. Marcus is trying to play it a bit cool, since begging for another date on your knees would make him look really fucking desperate, but he's thinking that might be what he ends up doing, though dragging Esca to the pub bathroom and giving him a blowjob is a version of that he’s also considering. He's about to draw breath to ask when one of the Brit lot checks their watch and curses. "Shit. Oi, Esca! Time to go back for evening!"

Esca stops mid-story about the time during rehearsals he had to be rescued from the Christmas tree by half the company and checks his watch. "...Bollocks, you're right." He makes a gimme gesture at Marcus. "Here, gimme your mobile." Marcus hands his phone over, and Esca taps at it before handing it back. "Okay, call me, I get out at 10:30, okay?" He pauses and flushes slightly. Marcus is not - repeat *not* - thinking how cute that is on someone he just saw sexually harass a whole theatre by just sitting there."Um, what is your name again? I don't think I caught it on Saturday."

Marcus grins. " 'S okay, pretty sure you were too busy trying to keep me from the bacon. Marcus."

"Marcus. Right." Esca nods, knocking back the last of his drink and grabbing his coat. "10:30, okay?" He calls as he goes out the door with the rest of them.

Marcus turns back round to be faced with all his crew smirking at him. "I think our little Marcus has a sure thing there, what do you guys think?" Jamelia says, crossing her arms.

"Nah, he's playing hard to get." Leon says.

"Because making out with him at least twice before that I heard is totally the new definition of hard to get." Rosa says pointedly.

Marcus relaxes back into his chair and grins. "You're all just jealous you didn't get a shot."

"Like anyone else could get a look in with you eclipsing everything else when you stand near someone, Bigfoot." Rosa retorts, throwing a peanut at his head.

\----

On the South Bank, killing some time in the morning before they have to go do the matinee in their respective bits of town. Marcus has already checked out the BMX-skate bit, and is currently making sounds that sound disturbingly like reliving his childhood. "Oh, come on, like you didn't have a skateboard?"

"Nope. Bike, yes, but not the skateboard. I didn't have this urge to re-live the 80s like some people." Esca says, dodging a bunch of Spanish tourists not looking where they're going.

"Oh, come on, skateboards are necessary to the life of teenagers. If you didn't get at least one fracture on a skateboard, you weren't doing it right." Marcus complains. "What did you do for fun?"

"I took dancing lessons and played footie."

Marcus shakes his head. "Lacking." They wander into the NAMCO arcade, looking around the games. "I haven't had a chance to play on any of these in ages."

"I have an Xbox back home." Esca points out.

"So not the same thing." Marcus replies. "I can't decide which driving game to go on first." He turns round, and stops dead in his tracks, spotting a machine hidden behind a pillar from where they came in. It's a Dance Dance Revolution game. Marcus takes a running jump, swinging over the bars to land on one of the pads, pressing at the buttons to get through the menu. "C'mon, dance-off time."

"Er." Esca says. "I can just watch, that's fine."

"What, you never did this either?" Marcus demands. "We used to play on these all the time."

Esca points at Marcus, then points at himself. "City boy. Small town. Our local arcade was two machines in the corner of the supermarket. Plus, ballet and tap dancer."

"So? It's just co-ordination." he flicks through the songs. "Boyzone? The hell? Okay, I Will Survive is okay for cheese, I suppose..." Then his eyes light up. "Dude. They have Cameo. Full-on old school. You have to do this."

"I'm going to regret this." Esca mutters, reluctantly getting up on the podium. Two minutes later, he decides he's right. "Argh, how do you do this? I'm stepping on the right bits some of the time, I know I am, but it's still telling me I fail."

"Look, you just wait for the arrow to get to the top of the screen. And use the whole of the foot, not just the ball. Stomp more." Marcus instructs as the score for that round flashes up. He grins. He can't help it, the flailing and swearing is really... cute. Especially on someone he's used to seeing move with such grace, unless he's attempting to dance to hip-hop.

"It's all right for you, you're not even looking and you're getting a perfect score." Esca grumbles.

"It's still on the easy setting. Look, let's try moderate -"

A voice from the floor interrupts him. "Hey, let someone who can actually do this have a go. Watching you two amateurs is full-on painful."

Esca jumps down to make way for the kid, all too glad to escape the dance pad. "Be my guest."

"You too, Bigfoot." the kid says, making shooing motions at Marcus with one hand as he programs in a new session. Esca covers his mouth at the image, since the kid barely comes up to Marcus' waist.

"I was teaching him." Marcus points out, folding his arms. "You're going down."

"Bring it." The kid puts it up to the highest setting. "Let's see your moves, grandpa."

The music starts up and Esca settles in, elbows on the bar, to watch the scarily co-ordinated blur of stomping feet. It's like that time he went into the local hall as a kid, not knowing it was linedancing class, only to be confronted by the sight of dozens of adults in cowboy boots heel-toeing without any of the motion he was used to in tap.

After a bit, more of the arcade drifts over to watch them face off, warped electronic music barely discernible over the rest of the arcade noise and the yelling as people pick sides, great big hulking American versus tiny kid. They're kitted out in pretty similar clothes, so there's a mini-me thing going on too.

After the 9th round of near-perfect scores, they stop for a breather and Marcus folds his arms. "All right, you're pretty good for a beginner, I'll give you that. Draw?"

The kid shakes his hand. "Okay, deal. Not bad yourself. Your man there, though..."

Marcus shoots a look at a broadly grinning Esca and shakes his head. "Yeah, I know. Needs more practice."

"Practice? Not in a million years."

Marcus ruffles the kid's afro, then adjusts his own hat. "It can be taught, trust me. I do this professionally. Come back when you get to my level."

"Professionally and you nearly got beat by a kid?" the kid shakes his head sadly. "Man, you so fail." He makes a crash and burn sound, complete with hand gesture.

Esca laughs and tugs Marcus off the podium before he can make a come back. "Come on, let's go find a drink." They emerge back into the sort-of sunlight of the South Bank. Esca shakes his head. "I can't believe you faced off against a kid."

"A battle is a battle." Marcus retorts, shoving his hands into his pockets, then bumps his elbow against Esca's arm. "Next, I graduate to seniors."

"Mmm. Just be glad that wasn't the kid from Diversity." Esca says.

Marcus blinks. "You've heard of them? How do you know the name of a street dance crew?"

"Britain's Got Talent winners." Esca sighs. "Too many people I know are addicted to reality shows, and made me watch the youtube vids."  
\----

Cleaning up backstage at the Barbican. "Plans for tomorrow?" Rosa asks. "I was going to check out Covent Garden, have a look around."

Marcus shakes his head as he shrugs his hoodie on. "Meeting up with Esca."

"What, again?" Obie asks. "What is this, third time this week?"

"Fourth." Marcus smirks.

Rosa cocks her head. "Precisely how many nights have you spent in your bed at the hotel since we got here?"

"I can answer that, and the answer is not many." Leon smirks, spinning his hat on his finger.

"Getting away from your snoring, man." Marcus replies. "Can you blame me? Sex or sharing a room with your ass. Know which I'd pick."

\----  
Esca pauses the game after Marcus announces where he wants to go visit tomorrow. "The Natural History Museum? Seriously?" He's this far from auto-cringing at the thought of all the school parties.

Marcus relaxes back against the couch, Xbox controller in one hand. "Dinosaurs. What's not to like?"

Esca thinks it over. On the one hand, school parties. On the other, dinosaurs. And he can get most of his Christmas shopping done if they stop at the gift shop. Also, dinosaurs. "I like the way you think."

"And here I thought it was just my body." Marcus says, stretching in a really obvious getting attention way.

Esca elbows him. "I'm not completely shallow. You move pretty well too."

"Oh?" Marcus asks, pulling him over into his lap. "That a fact?" He teases, rolling his hips.

"Maybe a bit." Esca says, keeping a straight face as he leans down to nip at Marcus' ear.  
\------

Morning, curled up half-dazed and kissing. Somewhere in the background there's the noise of a cookery programme talking about the best tomatoes to use for pizza. Esca noses a line up Marcus's cheek. "You seriously have to leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tour dates wait for no man, you know that." Marcus sighs.

"Bollocks." Esca says with feeling, palming Marcus' stomach. "I’m going to miss this."

"There’s this thing called Skype." Marcus points out.

"What makes you think I want you for your conversation?" Esca replies, nipping Marcus’ jaw.

"So turn the sound off and pretend I’m porn." Marcus grins, tilting Esca’s chin up so he can reach his mouth.

\----  
Epilogue.  
\-----

Interval, two weeks after Marcus and his crew left for the next leg of their tour. They're now in Paris and Marcus keeps smirking about 'Royale with Cheese'. "You know you watched Pulp Fiction way too many times as a kid." Esca says, watching Marcus stretch his shoulder.

"Hey, it was so cool it set the standard."

Cottia leans over his shoulder, Simon's spare trousers in hand, as they're constantly needing repairs. It's all that writhing in mental anguish that does something to the seams. "Who're you talking to?" She asks in interest, then sees the screen and waves. Marcus waves back. "Isn't that that hip-hop dancer you were shagging?"

"Yeah, kept in touch." Esca says, covering the mic.

"I thought you were just after what was in his pants."

"Turns out he has an unending ability to spout cheese that's pretty funny."

Cottia pats him on the head, then absently straightens his hair. "Well, don't strain a funny bone before the second act."

Esca releases the mic. "Sorry about that, mad wardrobe person."

Marcus just smirks. "I heard the cheese line. You know you love it." He pauses, checking something offscreen. "Okay, I have to ask. How do you dance with blades on your hands?"

"Very, very carefully during rehearsals and rely on everyone else learning to duck by the time dress rehearsal rolls around." Esca replies.

March. Esca checks his twitter, there's a DM from Marcus.

'In the UK at the O2 for a week in a show for some singer - you want to meet up?'

He grins and replies with 'I'll come and mock you at the stage door on the first night.'

Stage door of the O2. Esca gets in and asks around. "I'm looking for Marcus? Dancer?"

"Sure, second door down that corridor."

He knocks, it opens to reveal Marcus in the middle of towelling his hair. He grins. "Hey, you turned up!"

"Said I would." Esca says, slightly distracted by the bunch of Marcus' arm muscles as he rubs the towel over his head.

"Did you see any of the show?"

"Yeah, you weren't bad." Esca says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to make a rocking motion with it. "Verging on tolerable."

"You really know how to compliment a guy." Marcus says, shoving the towel back to rest around his neck. For a minute they stare at each other, not quite sure what to say now that there isn't a keyboard between them.

Esca scratches his neck. "So, uh, anyway, I-" He notices a bit of water trickling down Marcus' chin, and reaches out to brush it away. "You've got a -" Only problem is, on touching Marcus' skin, his fingers kind of get stuck. Or maybe he gets paralysis. Whichever it is, he's having problems moving his hand away. Marcus' jaw moves as he swallows, and very slowly brings his hand up to Esca's wrist, thumb stroking his pulse. Esca tries to get something coherent out, but he finds that's problematic since his mouth now appears to be welded to Marcus'.

"Jesus Christ, Marcus, get a room!" Someone passing by yells, at which point they stop to breathe.

Marcus takes a deep breath. "I was going to ask you out for a drink before I did that."

"And they say romance is dead." Esca says dryly.

"You're the one with your hand on my ass." Marcus points out.

"I... have no idea how that got there." Esca says sheepishly, then notices his fingers are still stuck to Marcus' face. There may be superglue involved.

"Did you want to go for that drink?" Marcus asks. "I'm saying this before I accidentally kiss you again."

"Might be persuaded." Esca says, finally getting his fingers off Marcus' face to tangle in the towel around his neck, pulling him in for that second accidental kiss.

It's getting close to the end of the singer's run in London. Marcus looks down at Esca where he's slumped into the couch as they're watching a dvd, comfortably curled into one another post-show, and it's been running through his head just how well they click. "You want to give this a go?" Marcus asks.

Esca twists slightly to look up at him. "Give what a go?" He glances back at the screen. "Chucking it all in and becoming hitmen? Can't say I'd enjoy getting shot at."

"Nah. This." Marcus tightens the arm he's slung around Esca. "Us. When we're in the same city."

Esca stares back at the screen for a minute or so, watching another explosion go by. "...Fuck it. Yeah, why not?"

\----

So they’re mostly seeing each other a few weeks here, a few weeks there between tours and shows, and a lot of skyping and texting. It’s not perfect but it’s working, and Marcus tries to get more gigs in the UK when Esca’s not off touring far-flung parts of Asia and Europe.

The Matthew Bourne company are on the New York leg of touring their latest production, so of course Marcus gets blackmailed into accompanying his relatives to see it since he’s in New York. Never mind that he saw it in England. Twice, because Esca insisted he see Sam’s performance to compare.

"I still can’t believe you of all people are dating Esca MacCunoval." Livia grumbles as they wait outside the stage door for Esca post-performance. "You don’t even appreciate what he does properly."

"Trust me, Liv, I really, really do." Marcus says, leering for her benefit.

"Ew! Ew!" She shrieks, putting her hands over her ears.

Uncle Aquila sighs and produces long-suffering look #19. He's got a lot of them, he's raising a teenager. "Kindly refrain from tormenting your cousin, her shrieks are rapidly reaching a pitch I find uncomfortable."

"Hey, she started it."

"You didn’t have to say that!" She whines, swatting at him. Marcus doesn’t bother to dodge. She’s got nothing on Jamelia and Rosa.

"Perhaps I should point out, child, that you wouldn’t be getting access if your cousin wasn’t on such good terms with him. And Marcus, kindly stop alluding to your sex life in front of her."

Esca emerges soon after, having got the moustache glue and Brylcreem off, grinning on seeing Marcus. "Hey."

"Hey." Marcus replies, kissing him in greeting.

"Good performance?" Esca asks.

"Ask the experts." Marcus shrugs, turning to introduce his relatives. "My Uncle Aquila and my bratty cousin Livia."

"He wouldn’t know you even existed if we hadn’t taken him to see Edward Scissorhands." Livia pipes up. Marcus glares at her in warning, since he knows that look. That is the look of a teenage girl with a crush, and Esca is his, thank you.

"I’m sure he’s very grateful." Uncle Aquila says, shaking Esca’s hand. "A splendid performance, I must say. I was particularly impressed by the dummy and pas de deux."

Esca grins. "The dummy’s a lot of fun, though I think Sam does it better than me."

"I really liked the pas de deux, it was so romantic and heartbreaking." Livia sighs. "I’ve been a fan of yours since I saw Billy Elliot. You were amazing in that role."

Marcus blinks. "You were actually Billy Elliot?"

Livia stares. "You’re going out with him and you didn’t know?"

"Not seen it." Marcus says, turning to Esca. "I knew you were in it, but-"

Livia taps on her phone and thrusts it in Marcus’ face. "Take a look at the cover of the dvd, dumbass." The cover of the dvd has a picture of a kid on it. With a really familiar name underneath that.

Marcus groans. "You could’ve told me."

Esca just smirks and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Was waiting for you to figure it out. Your obliviousness was pretty impressive considering they mention it in every programme and every interview or article they’ve ever done about me."

"And the Billy Elliot thing your mates do-"

"-Is really me-specific." Esca finishes.

"Learn to use google some time." Livia says, rolling her eyes. "Honestly."

Marcus shrugs. “I did, but I got distracted by the Dorian Gray pics of him in his jock and had to compare them to reality.” Esca coughs, turning slightly red.

Livia’s dawning look of horror is *priceless*.

 

END  
\------


End file.
